This is interesting. Apparently I must have been exposed to more testosterone in utero because my ring finger is longer than my index finger. I did do well in math during my school years, so I suppose there is some truth to the theory. At least in my case.
But I'm wondering . . . does this also mean I am more boy-like in general? Does it explain my penchant for the Jerky Boys and hatred of chick flicks? My lack of patience in regard to shopping? My preference for dark beer? I'd love to know.
Thursday, May 31, 2007
Friday, May 25, 2007
The Pie
I think I've mentioned that Jim and I have had some bad luck over the past few years. I realize that everyone encounters unfortunate and stressful events, but really. We've had more than our share. Deaths in both of our extended families, various personal and familial medical crises, financial hardships, etc. etc. etc. So it should come as no surprise that my very precious and special 9 year-old dog would be diagnosed with a bone tumor.
But I still can't believe it. ANOTHER problem? Because this dog has had WAY too many health problems in her short and beleaguered life. Maggie's vet files resemble Webster's Unabridged. It's truly ridiculous. Shall we review?
1. Severe allergies starting at age 1
Maggie's allergies cause her to scratch excessively, lick her paws incessantly, and generally be uncomfortable in her own skin. After YEARS of trying everything—countless food trials, an extensive allergy test and subsequent allergy shots (which she eventually became allergic to), making home cooked meals, buying any number of prescription dog foods, frequent bathing, less frequent bathing, and various drugs—we stumbled upon Cyclosporine. It has been a godsend. She's still a bit itchy, but at least the scratching is reduced and Maggie doesn't develop large skin boils thanks to frequent and insidious bacterial skin infections. So, bonus.
2. Brachycephalic syndrome
In short, breathing problems caused by having a squashed face. When Maggie was 2 she had a surgery to reduce her soft palate (which was obstructing her airway) and increase the size of her nostrils. Jim and I refer to this as her "nose job". It helped in a minimal sense. It also set me back about $1800.
3. Giardia
This was a real treat. No idea where she picked it up, but I suspect it happened when I boarded her. We returned home one day (after a trip to the hospital, where Jim had spent the afternoon having a angiogram to diagnose chest pain!!) to find the entire house covered in dog puke and diarrhea. It was literally in every room. On the couch, on the floor, everywhere. Poor pumpkin was a wreck and spent a couple of days at the vet recovering.
4. Countless ear infections
Thanks to the allergies. Please see #1.
5. Torn ACL
Back when she was on a steady diet of prednisone, Maggie decided to jump off the couch and tear her ACL. We later learned that steroids can weaken ligaments and make dogs more prone to such accidents. She made a full recovery, but not before I plunked down $2000 for surgery.
6. Patent ductus arteriosus a.k.a. hole in the heart
So it turns out that Maggie was born with a heart defect that we JUST discovered several months ago. In the past we had seen vets who mentioned a heart murmur, but never told us to investigate it further. So when we were referred to a cardiologist earlier this year (who knew there were vet cardiologists?), we were shocked to find out about the heart condition. This new vet was amazed that Maggie had lived so long undiagnosed and untreated. He added 2 medications to her list of 3 other prescriptions, and seemed to think she was doing pretty well at her last recheck.
7. Arthritis
I guess this is pretty common in older dogs.
Which brings us to the latest bad news: the bone tumor in her right front leg. Our options are amputation or euthanasia. And I can't imagine putting her though an amputation. The surgery alone would be hard on her, and she's been having trouble managing on three legs thanks to #7.
I'm totally wrecked. I can't believe we have to play God and decide when Maggie is going to be put down. I had plenty of pets growing up, but Maggie is the first dog that was all my own. We've been through a LOT together: numerous moves, a career change, my divorce and subsequent remarriage. Not to mention all the health stuff. It's hard to imagine life without her. She is such a sweet little baby. Despite all of her issues she has always been a joy. So loving and incredibly stoic in the face of hardship. I've spent an insane amount of money keeping her going, but I would do it all again in a heartbeat.
We've given her loads of nicknames, which I think bespeaks her importance (you know, like how the Inuit have tons of words to describe snow and ice?). Maggie. Magpie. The Pie. Cindy the Cinderblock. The Precious. Maggenfoose. The Raisin. Mags. Margaret. Little Girl. Pumpkin.
We will most likely be scheduling an appointment next weekend to put her down. I can't remember anything I have dreaded more.
But I still can't believe it. ANOTHER problem? Because this dog has had WAY too many health problems in her short and beleaguered life. Maggie's vet files resemble Webster's Unabridged. It's truly ridiculous. Shall we review?
1. Severe allergies starting at age 1
Maggie's allergies cause her to scratch excessively, lick her paws incessantly, and generally be uncomfortable in her own skin. After YEARS of trying everything—countless food trials, an extensive allergy test and subsequent allergy shots (which she eventually became allergic to), making home cooked meals, buying any number of prescription dog foods, frequent bathing, less frequent bathing, and various drugs—we stumbled upon Cyclosporine. It has been a godsend. She's still a bit itchy, but at least the scratching is reduced and Maggie doesn't develop large skin boils thanks to frequent and insidious bacterial skin infections. So, bonus.
2. Brachycephalic syndrome
In short, breathing problems caused by having a squashed face. When Maggie was 2 she had a surgery to reduce her soft palate (which was obstructing her airway) and increase the size of her nostrils. Jim and I refer to this as her "nose job". It helped in a minimal sense. It also set me back about $1800.
3. Giardia
This was a real treat. No idea where she picked it up, but I suspect it happened when I boarded her. We returned home one day (after a trip to the hospital, where Jim had spent the afternoon having a angiogram to diagnose chest pain!!) to find the entire house covered in dog puke and diarrhea. It was literally in every room. On the couch, on the floor, everywhere. Poor pumpkin was a wreck and spent a couple of days at the vet recovering.
4. Countless ear infections
Thanks to the allergies. Please see #1.
5. Torn ACL
Back when she was on a steady diet of prednisone, Maggie decided to jump off the couch and tear her ACL. We later learned that steroids can weaken ligaments and make dogs more prone to such accidents. She made a full recovery, but not before I plunked down $2000 for surgery.
6. Patent ductus arteriosus a.k.a. hole in the heart
So it turns out that Maggie was born with a heart defect that we JUST discovered several months ago. In the past we had seen vets who mentioned a heart murmur, but never told us to investigate it further. So when we were referred to a cardiologist earlier this year (who knew there were vet cardiologists?), we were shocked to find out about the heart condition. This new vet was amazed that Maggie had lived so long undiagnosed and untreated. He added 2 medications to her list of 3 other prescriptions, and seemed to think she was doing pretty well at her last recheck.
7. Arthritis
I guess this is pretty common in older dogs.
Which brings us to the latest bad news: the bone tumor in her right front leg. Our options are amputation or euthanasia. And I can't imagine putting her though an amputation. The surgery alone would be hard on her, and she's been having trouble managing on three legs thanks to #7.
I'm totally wrecked. I can't believe we have to play God and decide when Maggie is going to be put down. I had plenty of pets growing up, but Maggie is the first dog that was all my own. We've been through a LOT together: numerous moves, a career change, my divorce and subsequent remarriage. Not to mention all the health stuff. It's hard to imagine life without her. She is such a sweet little baby. Despite all of her issues she has always been a joy. So loving and incredibly stoic in the face of hardship. I've spent an insane amount of money keeping her going, but I would do it all again in a heartbeat.
We've given her loads of nicknames, which I think bespeaks her importance (you know, like how the Inuit have tons of words to describe snow and ice?). Maggie. Magpie. The Pie. Cindy the Cinderblock. The Precious. Maggenfoose. The Raisin. Mags. Margaret. Little Girl. Pumpkin.
We will most likely be scheduling an appointment next weekend to put her down. I can't remember anything I have dreaded more.
Saturday, May 19, 2007
Breakfast on a stick
Earlier today we found ourselves in the frozen food section at the grocery store. Jim was taking an eternity to pick out ice cream. Apparently it's a difficult task. I wouldn't know because I'm not a huge ice cream fan. I know, I know—I'm a freak. I prefer sherbet. Anyway, I decided to peruse the other side of the aisle while I was waiting. That's when I came across this fine food product . . .
I almost couldn't believe my eyes. Oh to have been a fly on the wall at the meeting when Joe from product development pitched this little beauty. "Folks, we're going to show the world that we're on the bleeding edge of convenience foods. Sausage. Chocolate chip pancakes. Wonder Twinned into the FORM OF . . . a corn dog!"
Who buys these things? It's a product that no one, under any circumstances, should eat. Ever. I'm sure the fat and sugar contents are horrifying. And please note, there are FOURTEEN of the them in the package. So when you buy the box, you're making a real commitment.
The whole concept actually makes me kind of depressed, like: is this what the world is coming to? Who wants to be reminded of the state fair while they're eating breakfast?
And then I think about the poor graphic designer who had to tackle this project and I want to cry. I can't imagine having to come up with stuff like this. Do you put it in your portfolio? When you interview for your next job do you talk about how hard you worked to make sure the sausage really glistened and the chocolate chips were evenly spaced?
Thanks but no thanks, Jimmy Dean. I'll stick with my cereal. Sans stick.
I almost couldn't believe my eyes. Oh to have been a fly on the wall at the meeting when Joe from product development pitched this little beauty. "Folks, we're going to show the world that we're on the bleeding edge of convenience foods. Sausage. Chocolate chip pancakes. Wonder Twinned into the FORM OF . . . a corn dog!"
Who buys these things? It's a product that no one, under any circumstances, should eat. Ever. I'm sure the fat and sugar contents are horrifying. And please note, there are FOURTEEN of the them in the package. So when you buy the box, you're making a real commitment.
The whole concept actually makes me kind of depressed, like: is this what the world is coming to? Who wants to be reminded of the state fair while they're eating breakfast?
And then I think about the poor graphic designer who had to tackle this project and I want to cry. I can't imagine having to come up with stuff like this. Do you put it in your portfolio? When you interview for your next job do you talk about how hard you worked to make sure the sausage really glistened and the chocolate chips were evenly spaced?
Thanks but no thanks, Jimmy Dean. I'll stick with my cereal. Sans stick.
Thursday, May 17, 2007
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Beautiful and . . . depressing
These images are pretty amazing. I find the Ben Franklin piece especially gut-wrenching. Ooof.
Unholy Alliances
No, not the Bush administration. This time.
I'm talking about the odd predilection Asian zoos have for displaying animals in random combinations. The most recent example is a French bulldog and a tiger. Last week it happened to be capybaras and squirrel monkeys. And who could ever forget the baby pigs dressed as tigers?
It's all seems so . . . unnatural. Sure, it's kind of cute and intriguing, but I highly doubt any of the animals involved would have chosen these circumstances. And reading the article about the baby pigs, you'll see that case was a mere gimmick to entice visitors. Sad.
I realize that on occasion, animals do form random bonds organically. Remember the baby hippo and the tortoise that hooked up after the tsunami? Those pictures were so cute they almost blinded me. But the situation wasn't manufactured for the purpose of revenue. (Though apparently a movie IS in the works, because nothing says cash cow like heart-warming animal story).
I keep going back to the French bulldog though. I have so many questions. Was the French bulldog actually IN the zoo? Hard to imagine, but as we recently learned, unusual dogs aren't well understood in Japan. Why a Frenchie? Was that the wackiest combination they could come up with at the time? What life lessons would a French bulldog impart? The best way to snuggle on the couch? The fine art of snoring and snorting? News articles rarely tell you what you REALLY want to know.
I'm talking about the odd predilection Asian zoos have for displaying animals in random combinations. The most recent example is a French bulldog and a tiger. Last week it happened to be capybaras and squirrel monkeys. And who could ever forget the baby pigs dressed as tigers?
It's all seems so . . . unnatural. Sure, it's kind of cute and intriguing, but I highly doubt any of the animals involved would have chosen these circumstances. And reading the article about the baby pigs, you'll see that case was a mere gimmick to entice visitors. Sad.
I realize that on occasion, animals do form random bonds organically. Remember the baby hippo and the tortoise that hooked up after the tsunami? Those pictures were so cute they almost blinded me. But the situation wasn't manufactured for the purpose of revenue. (Though apparently a movie IS in the works, because nothing says cash cow like heart-warming animal story).
I keep going back to the French bulldog though. I have so many questions. Was the French bulldog actually IN the zoo? Hard to imagine, but as we recently learned, unusual dogs aren't well understood in Japan. Why a Frenchie? Was that the wackiest combination they could come up with at the time? What life lessons would a French bulldog impart? The best way to snuggle on the couch? The fine art of snoring and snorting? News articles rarely tell you what you REALLY want to know.
Sunday, May 13, 2007
In Heaven, everything is fine.*
Despite the fact that I'm a huge David Lynch fan, I had never seen Eraserhead until last night. I added it to our Netflix queue a while ago, and it was finally time to give it a go. Whoo-boy! In short, it made Blue Velvet look like a sitcom. Totally bizarre and incomprehensible. Disturbing.
David Lynch is famous for never commenting on what his movies REALLY mean, and this is one time that I would die to know. There is a DVD extra that is an interview with Lynch, but it offers absolutely no insight. In fact, it's one of the most inane things I've seen in a while. I kept watching and watching and watching (they thing goes on for at least an hour, but it seemed like two) and waiting for him to say something interesting or offer a tidbit of insight, but I was sorely disappointed. I guess the purpose was for him to talk about the making of the film (which took years and hit many snags). At one point he waxes nostalgic about one of the crew members who happened to love yogurt. The real kind—in the plastic cups. He ate it with a plastic spoon, and he would scrape the bottom to get the last little bit, which really annoyed everyone. Not even kidding. There's also an odd tale about a dead cat that David Lynch acquires, dissects, and eventually submerges in a pool of tar (or oil? can't remember). He comes back for the cat a year later, pulls it out of the muck, and he describes the experience like it's the most normal thing in the world.
Jim didn't exactly appreciate the movie (and he fell asleep during the extra, telling me "Give me the Cliff Notes version when I wake up"), but I'm glad I finally saw it. I can see why it was groundbreaking, and laid the path for Lynch to create his signature style of wackiness. It makes me want to rent the Twin Peaks episodes and some of his other movies again. I guess as much as I like to know the meaning behind art, I also like to be thrown off-guard.
* Lyrics to a song sung by a deformed chipmunk-cheeked lady who lives in a radiator. Yeah, for reals.
David Lynch is famous for never commenting on what his movies REALLY mean, and this is one time that I would die to know. There is a DVD extra that is an interview with Lynch, but it offers absolutely no insight. In fact, it's one of the most inane things I've seen in a while. I kept watching and watching and watching (they thing goes on for at least an hour, but it seemed like two) and waiting for him to say something interesting or offer a tidbit of insight, but I was sorely disappointed. I guess the purpose was for him to talk about the making of the film (which took years and hit many snags). At one point he waxes nostalgic about one of the crew members who happened to love yogurt. The real kind—in the plastic cups. He ate it with a plastic spoon, and he would scrape the bottom to get the last little bit, which really annoyed everyone. Not even kidding. There's also an odd tale about a dead cat that David Lynch acquires, dissects, and eventually submerges in a pool of tar (or oil? can't remember). He comes back for the cat a year later, pulls it out of the muck, and he describes the experience like it's the most normal thing in the world.
Jim didn't exactly appreciate the movie (and he fell asleep during the extra, telling me "Give me the Cliff Notes version when I wake up"), but I'm glad I finally saw it. I can see why it was groundbreaking, and laid the path for Lynch to create his signature style of wackiness. It makes me want to rent the Twin Peaks episodes and some of his other movies again. I guess as much as I like to know the meaning behind art, I also like to be thrown off-guard.
* Lyrics to a song sung by a deformed chipmunk-cheeked lady who lives in a radiator. Yeah, for reals.
Friday, May 11, 2007
Massage Envy
About a year ago I signed up for a membership at Massage Envy, better known as the rapidly growing massage therapy chain with the horrible, horrible name. Because, honestly. "Massage Envy"? You would have to TRY to come up with a name that cheesy. It's practically dripping in Velveeta. I'm surprised the logo doesn't include Swiss cheese holes, arranged strategically about the a's and e's.
Anyway, I decided to buy a membership because for several reasons. The first reason will come as a surprise to no one that knows me well: I'm a bit of a stress ball. Tightly wound. Some might say I put the "A" in Type A. Because of this I often have trouble with my neck and shoulders. Namely, they start to feel like they are permanently scrunched somewhere up around my ears. This is compounded by the fact that I rear-ended someone back in 2000 and suffered some pretty serious whiplash as a result. Before that accident I always thought that whiplash was a load of hooey. Well let me tell you, it's not. It's real, and it sucks. And sometimes, it doesn't go away in a matter of months. Or years. It lingers, and it gets worse when you're stressed out. And when that happens, certain people get very grumpy.
Enter Massage Envy. For the low price of approx. $50 a month, I receive an hour-long massage. Tip not included, but still—it's a good deal. In my case, an hour massage once monthly mitigates the whiplash problem and helps me feel like a regular person with properly positioned shoulders and a functional neck. It also reduces grumpiness, and as Jim would heartily agree, that's worth it's weight in gold.
Overall my experience at M.E. has actually been pretty fantastic. Granted, my local franchise doesn't have the atmosphere of a fancy spa, but it's clean and they have weekend and extended evening hours. So, super convenient. And early on in my membership I was lucky enough to stumble upon Lily, who might be the best masseuse ever. I mean, I don't claim to be a connoisseur, per se, but I've had my share of massages. And while I've only had one really BAD massage (during which my male masseuse managed to seriously bruise my rib in a ham-handed fashion) I've had lots of massages that were just OK. Relaxing and all, but by no means transformative.
Well, I have to say the massage I had the other night WAS transformative. A real trip. I decided to spring for a 1.5 hour session and I was not sorry. It was phenomenal. SO relaxing. And Lily did this wacky energy field thing that is going to sound ridiculous, but it was amazingly effective. Apparently there are points on your body that activate beta wave activity in the brain. But touching these points you reach a deep level of relaxation. So, for example, she took a hold of my little finger and then with the other hand held one of my toes. I know, it sounds totally bizarre, but it's for real. I felt like I had been meditating for 20 minutes. I really must do some research into this because if there's a way I can do this myself, I totally will. That night I slept like a ROCK.
Do I sound like a complete hippie? Because I'm really not. I mean, I think acupuncture is great and I meditate on a somewhat regular basis, but I'm by no means a drum-circle-dancing, goddess-worshipping wood nymph. However, I do think the mind-body connection is really interesting, and I have to say that ANYTHING that will calm my anxiety-addled brain is a bonus. So bring it on, Massage Envy. Gouda-worthy name and all.
Anyway, I decided to buy a membership because for several reasons. The first reason will come as a surprise to no one that knows me well: I'm a bit of a stress ball. Tightly wound. Some might say I put the "A" in Type A. Because of this I often have trouble with my neck and shoulders. Namely, they start to feel like they are permanently scrunched somewhere up around my ears. This is compounded by the fact that I rear-ended someone back in 2000 and suffered some pretty serious whiplash as a result. Before that accident I always thought that whiplash was a load of hooey. Well let me tell you, it's not. It's real, and it sucks. And sometimes, it doesn't go away in a matter of months. Or years. It lingers, and it gets worse when you're stressed out. And when that happens, certain people get very grumpy.
Enter Massage Envy. For the low price of approx. $50 a month, I receive an hour-long massage. Tip not included, but still—it's a good deal. In my case, an hour massage once monthly mitigates the whiplash problem and helps me feel like a regular person with properly positioned shoulders and a functional neck. It also reduces grumpiness, and as Jim would heartily agree, that's worth it's weight in gold.
Overall my experience at M.E. has actually been pretty fantastic. Granted, my local franchise doesn't have the atmosphere of a fancy spa, but it's clean and they have weekend and extended evening hours. So, super convenient. And early on in my membership I was lucky enough to stumble upon Lily, who might be the best masseuse ever. I mean, I don't claim to be a connoisseur, per se, but I've had my share of massages. And while I've only had one really BAD massage (during which my male masseuse managed to seriously bruise my rib in a ham-handed fashion) I've had lots of massages that were just OK. Relaxing and all, but by no means transformative.
Well, I have to say the massage I had the other night WAS transformative. A real trip. I decided to spring for a 1.5 hour session and I was not sorry. It was phenomenal. SO relaxing. And Lily did this wacky energy field thing that is going to sound ridiculous, but it was amazingly effective. Apparently there are points on your body that activate beta wave activity in the brain. But touching these points you reach a deep level of relaxation. So, for example, she took a hold of my little finger and then with the other hand held one of my toes. I know, it sounds totally bizarre, but it's for real. I felt like I had been meditating for 20 minutes. I really must do some research into this because if there's a way I can do this myself, I totally will. That night I slept like a ROCK.
Do I sound like a complete hippie? Because I'm really not. I mean, I think acupuncture is great and I meditate on a somewhat regular basis, but I'm by no means a drum-circle-dancing, goddess-worshipping wood nymph. However, I do think the mind-body connection is really interesting, and I have to say that ANYTHING that will calm my anxiety-addled brain is a bonus. So bring it on, Massage Envy. Gouda-worthy name and all.
Tuesday, May 8, 2007
Haiku Spew-o-the-Week
I think it's time for some more haikus. The theme for today is: freelance.
How can I design
When the weather is so nice
Office or prison?
I need to make calls
I need to finish an ad
Better check email.
Getting organized
Making lots of little lists
Obsessive? And how!
How can I design
When the weather is so nice
Office or prison?
I need to make calls
I need to finish an ad
Better check email.
Getting organized
Making lots of little lists
Obsessive? And how!
Sunday, May 6, 2007
Saturday, May 5, 2007
It's pouring
Like I mentioned before, I have a ton of freelance work at the moment. I can tell my brain is reaching a critical point because I woke up at 2 am last night fretting about deadlines and the looming specter of designer's block. So much to do, so little time. Design under pressure! That means I need take a page out of Emeril's book and kick it up a notch. Its harder now that I'm working at home. There are an insane amount of distractions including, but not limited to: dogs that need to go out, phones that ring, emails that arrive, and tasty snacks that sing their sweet sirens' songs from the depths of the 'fridge.
But none of that matters. It's time to focus. Get serious. It's time to make to-do lists and phone calls, create bid requests and scans and comps and invoices and timelines. I need to feel the periodic high of accomplishment in order to keep motivated. And that means . . . well . . . I need to accomplish something.
As of this week I do have one poster and brochure behind me, so that helps a bit. I'm actually pretty happy with the way the poster turned out. Being pleased with my work is sort of a rare thing, unfortunately. I'm my own worst critic.
I hope we can actually make it to this event next week. It sounds like fun, and I always enjoy visiting the chickens at the history park. They are of the old-school fancy and fluffy variety. Who doesn't love a heritage chicken?
But none of that matters. It's time to focus. Get serious. It's time to make to-do lists and phone calls, create bid requests and scans and comps and invoices and timelines. I need to feel the periodic high of accomplishment in order to keep motivated. And that means . . . well . . . I need to accomplish something.
As of this week I do have one poster and brochure behind me, so that helps a bit. I'm actually pretty happy with the way the poster turned out. Being pleased with my work is sort of a rare thing, unfortunately. I'm my own worst critic.
I hope we can actually make it to this event next week. It sounds like fun, and I always enjoy visiting the chickens at the history park. They are of the old-school fancy and fluffy variety. Who doesn't love a heritage chicken?
Thursday, May 3, 2007
Sweetbreads, etc.
I love cook books; they are a source of endless fascination. While I prefer to peruse the ones with color images of perfectly styled food, I find the down and dirty, text-heavy versions more useful. More practical. Less fluff.
Earlier today I had a hankering for chicken salad so I decided to take a look at the Joy of Cooking's version to see if it sparked any new ideas. Mind you, I inherited my grandmother's copy, circa 1953. I should have known the recipe would be basic: chicken, celery, salted almonds (if you're feeling sassy!). The usual. There is an additional list of things you can use to spice the salad up a bit, including pimento (blech!) and parboiled oysters (double blech!), but nothing that really made me snap to attention.
That is, until I flipped to the previous page, where I found recipes for the following trio of delight:
—Salad of Sweetbreads, Cucumbers, and Mushrooms
—Pickled Lamb Tongue Salad
—Mock Ham Salad (made from bologna, which is apparently ham's bastard cousin)
Don't those sound awesome? Here's a hot tip: mix up a batch of each for your next party, and watch the bridge club go wild!
So I got a little curious and decided to visit the Meat section of the book. Because who knows what types of monsters might lurk within? What I found chilled me to the bone. There is an entire section (13 pages!) of recipes for Sweetbreads, Brains, Kidneys, Liver, Heart, Tongue, Oxtails, etc. What in holy hell does that "etc." mean?? The introduction is priceless. I have to transcribe it because it's almost too delicious (ha ha!) to be true. My comments in italics.
************
The following is a hush-hush section ,"just between us girls."
Today's skeleton, shamelessly revealed, is apt to be the housekeeper's slenderized pocketbook. Faced with the responsibility of producing meals that are nutritionally sound, acceptable to the family and not noticeably economical (heaven forbid hubby suspect you're pinching pennies!) she may well feel "as broke as the ten commandments." Her marketing jaunts find her "just eyeballing around" (unintentional random body part pun?) as far as the luxuries are concerned, and the question foremost in her mind is how to vary her menus without increasing their cost. (as opposed to "I can't believe the car broke down again" or maybe "when is my condescending husband going to start respecting me?") She has little chance of emulating the French, who pity us for our limited range of gastronomic enjoyment, by using the less expensive variety meats like brains, kidneys, heart, tripe, tongue, etc., for serving these meats frequently means the reeducation of family taste. A suggestion on my part that they be tried usually meets with a vociferous and virtuous "Why, my husband wouldn't eat that stuff." Since "that stuff" is relished by countless thousands who have thrived on it, it seems reasonable to give it a trial. Charles Dickens said: (she's not really going to quote Dickens, is she? omg, she is!) "Her hair was false but it deceived no one." So don't try to coat the pill. Serve these delicacies and let the chips fall where they may.
***********
So instead of telling your family "We're having pasta again because the budget is tight," go out and buy some tripe and brains, dress them up, and "let the chips fall where they may."
Was it really that important to serve meat at every meal back in the 50's? I can't even comprehend such a thing. But I'll tell ya, this book is chock full of fun. I might have to make excerpts a regular feature on the blog. Next up: how to skin a squirrel. Not even kidding.
Earlier today I had a hankering for chicken salad so I decided to take a look at the Joy of Cooking's version to see if it sparked any new ideas. Mind you, I inherited my grandmother's copy, circa 1953. I should have known the recipe would be basic: chicken, celery, salted almonds (if you're feeling sassy!). The usual. There is an additional list of things you can use to spice the salad up a bit, including pimento (blech!) and parboiled oysters (double blech!), but nothing that really made me snap to attention.
That is, until I flipped to the previous page, where I found recipes for the following trio of delight:
—Salad of Sweetbreads, Cucumbers, and Mushrooms
—Pickled Lamb Tongue Salad
—Mock Ham Salad (made from bologna, which is apparently ham's bastard cousin)
Don't those sound awesome? Here's a hot tip: mix up a batch of each for your next party, and watch the bridge club go wild!
So I got a little curious and decided to visit the Meat section of the book. Because who knows what types of monsters might lurk within? What I found chilled me to the bone. There is an entire section (13 pages!) of recipes for Sweetbreads, Brains, Kidneys, Liver, Heart, Tongue, Oxtails, etc. What in holy hell does that "etc." mean?? The introduction is priceless. I have to transcribe it because it's almost too delicious (ha ha!) to be true. My comments in italics.
************
The following is a hush-hush section ,"just between us girls."
Today's skeleton, shamelessly revealed, is apt to be the housekeeper's slenderized pocketbook. Faced with the responsibility of producing meals that are nutritionally sound, acceptable to the family and not noticeably economical (heaven forbid hubby suspect you're pinching pennies!) she may well feel "as broke as the ten commandments." Her marketing jaunts find her "just eyeballing around" (unintentional random body part pun?) as far as the luxuries are concerned, and the question foremost in her mind is how to vary her menus without increasing their cost. (as opposed to "I can't believe the car broke down again" or maybe "when is my condescending husband going to start respecting me?") She has little chance of emulating the French, who pity us for our limited range of gastronomic enjoyment, by using the less expensive variety meats like brains, kidneys, heart, tripe, tongue, etc., for serving these meats frequently means the reeducation of family taste. A suggestion on my part that they be tried usually meets with a vociferous and virtuous "Why, my husband wouldn't eat that stuff." Since "that stuff" is relished by countless thousands who have thrived on it, it seems reasonable to give it a trial. Charles Dickens said: (she's not really going to quote Dickens, is she? omg, she is!) "Her hair was false but it deceived no one." So don't try to coat the pill. Serve these delicacies and let the chips fall where they may.
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So instead of telling your family "We're having pasta again because the budget is tight," go out and buy some tripe and brains, dress them up, and "let the chips fall where they may."
Was it really that important to serve meat at every meal back in the 50's? I can't even comprehend such a thing. But I'll tell ya, this book is chock full of fun. I might have to make excerpts a regular feature on the blog. Next up: how to skin a squirrel. Not even kidding.
Wednesday, May 2, 2007
Throwing stones
The famous Glass House is finally open to the public. I would love to check it out sometime, maybe when we are visiting Jim's parents in New Hampshire.
I once read an interview with Phillip Johnson where he talked about throwing stones at his neighbor's house. Literally. He thought it was hilarious. And if I remember correctly, the neighbor finally got pissed and threw some stones back. I wish I could find the article, it was pretty entertaining.
Critters
I try to control frivolous spending, I really do. But I couldn't resist these nuggets of wonderful that I found at Kidrobot. I mean, I HAD to buy a "happy new job" gift for myself, right?
Cutest damn things ever. You mix and match the body parts to create all varieties of critters. Brilliant! I can't wait for them to arrive. I bought three, and since it's a blind selection I just hope they're all different. Oh, and I REALLY want the tree.
Cutest damn things ever. You mix and match the body parts to create all varieties of critters. Brilliant! I can't wait for them to arrive. I bought three, and since it's a blind selection I just hope they're all different. Oh, and I REALLY want the tree.
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